Stephen Addcox has spent some time reading John Calvin recently. At my request he put some reflections in writing. Enjoy.

“I cannot pass a man by as though he were a stone.” –Fredric Jameson
This was my first encounter with John Calvin; for two weeks I read these chapters from his Institutes on the bus to and from UF’s campus. In my experience Calvin is often characterized as a cold-hearted theologian, whose interpretations of scripture are unpalatable. Yet here I encountered a man who is deeply concerned with the charitable interactions of Christians both with each other and with the world in general. The quote with which I began these thoughts comes from a Marxist literary critic. His idea is an important one: as human beings, we all share a common bond, but where Jameson and others have identified this connection as biological, economic, or cultural, Calvin finds our similarity in our heritage as God’s creations.
What then is our response? Calvin urges that “whatever gifts of God we notice in others, let us value and esteem both the gifts and their possessors[…]. The faults of others we are taught to overlook, [and] we should never insult others on account of their faults, for it is our duty to show charity and respect to everyone.” In essence, we cannot treat others as though they “were stones.” In my own experience of reading The Golden Booklet, I was offered a brief opportunity to put this into practice. While riding home at the end of the day, a young woman started asking me questions about the book I was reading. Her questions varied from who the author was to what particular parts of the book meant. Unfortunately, our conversation was cut short when we reached her bus stop; as the bus slowed, I read aloud a selection on this topic: “Let us rather seek the profit of others, and even voluntarily give up our rights for the sake of others.” Getting up to leave, she asked one final question that went straight to the heart of the matter, “But how do you do that?” I was stumped.
Every day I am faced with choices about how to interact with others around me. I can scoff at the bad drivers on Archer (you’ve all seen them), or I can laugh at the self-centered vanity of someone who loudly answers their phone in the library. But I need more than a change of behavior, because even if I repress my outward reaction, my inward response is still the same. God has often chastised me for such reactions; for example, after having a condescending thought about a fellow bus passenger, I later saw that she was intently reading her Bible. I felt such shame upon realizing that this person is as much God’s child (in all likelihood) as I am. Calvin’s solution to this dilemma strikes me as so simple and yet so counterintuitive: to treat others as God’s image bearers begins with humility. My incredulity, my unapologetic sarcasm, and my callousness are born of a vaulted view of my own person and abilities. In seeking humility, my view of others will raise as my view of myself lowers. This is not a simple task of self-abasement or mental self-flagellation; Calvin’s describes it as a process of “forgetting yourself.” As John the Baptist said of Christ, “He must increase, but I must decrease.”
Can I completely forget myself? Probably not, but as Calvin rightly says, “Let us not cease to do the utmost, that we may incessantly go forward in the way of the Lord; and let us not despair because of the smallness of our accomplishment.” We cannot get bogged down with frustration at not being perfect in our treatment of others, but in seeking humility and charity, we will find them to be closer them we may have first imagined.